


Rise (And Try Not to Fall)

by TwinEnigma



Series: Jason the Jedi AU [2]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Star Wars Fusion, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Families of Choice, Gen, Jason Todd is a Jedi, Jason-Centric, Jedi Knight Talia al Ghul, Jedi Temple, Jedi Training
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-22
Updated: 2017-05-27
Packaged: 2018-05-15 12:34:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5785498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TwinEnigma/pseuds/TwinEnigma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jason Todd didn't know what Force Sensitive meant, but going to the Temple sure beat living on the streets.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Purple Moon Rising

                Gotham isn’t the greatest planet to grow up on. On the borders of the Western Reaches and the Outer Rim, the Dici system has few planets worth noting and Gotham is _not_ one of them – at least, not in _polite_ company, that is. Most of the planet is covered in dense urban settlements, jungles of durasteel stacked in layers and layers over more ancient buildings that delved down near endlessly. The rest, save the polar regions and the massive Isley equatorial jungle ring, is a maze of various industrial complexes and research facilities. Not that Jason Todd has ever _seen_ them, mind.

                He is a kid from Below.

                Kids from Below don’t go Topside, not unless they are brought there. Sure, if they are lucky, someday one of ‘em might strike it rich and move up to the Midway, the levels between Upper Gotham and Lower Gotham, but that’s a thing that happens only in dreams and when the red moon, Bludhaven, turns purple with displaced atmo. And kids from Below certainly never are that lucky. No, the only way a kid ever left Below is because someone brought them Up and there weren’t a whole lot of reasons for anyone to do that – and none of ‘em were any good.

                Some kids get brought Topside and never come back. A few come back, but they’re _never_ the same. Jason’s seen it – they _all_ have – and the Boss isn’t shy about letting them know it could easily happen to them too if they step too far out of line. The Boss has friends up there, friends that wouldn’t mind taking the troublemakers off his hands.

                So, when the Boss says they’re going Topside, Jason’s skin crawls something awful. He’s got a _bad_ feeling about this. And when he’s got a bad feeling about something, it tends to be right.

                Not that the Boss would listen to him anyway: he’s just a kid, what does he know?

* * *

 

                If Lower Gotham is dark and cramped, then Upper Gotham is unsettlingly open and bright.

                It gives Jason the jitters, to be honest. He’s used to the dimly lit, flickering labyrinth of streets and passages that make up Below.   There weren’t a lack of places a kid in trouble could hide down there, not like Topside. There isn’t even a shadow to be had here. Even _Midway_ had more nooks and crannies than this place! And, worse, he can practically feel Boss’s eyes on him, no matter which way he turns.

                Jason just wants this job to be _over,_ so they can head back to where it’s safe.

                He chews on his lip a little as he weaves through the crowd and does as he’s been trained. It’s laughably easy for him, small as he is, to lift credits from his marks: there’s a celebration of some kind going on, something he doesn’t quite understand, but everyone’s too busy focusing on it to really notice him or any of the others filtering through their ranks.

                Still, there are a _few_ close calls. The worst is when a Twi’lek almost turns around as he reaches for her credits, his hand clumsily brushing the lining of her pocket. _Don’t see me, it’s nothing,_ he thinks over and over and she stops, relaxing. He slips away, his heart hammering in his chest as relief washes through him, and that’s when he collides with a human man, one he hadn’t even noticed at all.

                Jason rolls with the collision, his fingers instinctively finding the man’s pockets and latching onto the credits, and feigns a stumble. Then a hand catches his wrist, latching on, and he freezes.

                The man, tall and broad shouldered, stares at him, his blue eyes narrowing and Jason knows he’s been _caught_.  Rule number one: _don’t get caught._

                “Let me go!” Jason snarls, tugging his arm back, but the man is far stronger than him and frowns down at him.

                He’s going to call the guards. The Boss is going to _kill_ him.

                “Let go, let go, _let go_!” Jason chants and that’s _all_ he wants in that very instant, for that man to just _let go_.

                The man’s eyes suddenly widen in surprise and _something else_ as his grip starts to slack and then it tightens again. “You’re Force Sensitive,” the man says in a hushed, strained voice.

                Jason doesn’t know what that means, but he’s scared and he struggles, kicking with all his might as he cries out in anger.

                _Sleep,_ something distinctly _not him_ says in his head.

                Jason sags, suddenly inexplicably tired. Dimly, he notices that the red moon is rising on the horizon, swollen and tinted purple.

                _Sleep_.

                He falls asleep.

 


	2. Safe Places

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason wakes up.

                Jason dreams.

                He’s lying on his back, floating on a cloud.  It’s soft, softer than anything he’s ever known, and it’s bright.  There isn’t anything else but him and the clouds, seemingly stretching on forever, but he’s not scared at all, not like he was Topside.  This is different somehow – warm and safe, even if there isn’t a shadow to be found.  It’s the best feeling in the world.

                “Jason,” a voice says.

                He stirs, not wanting to get up.  It’s so nice here.

                “Jason,” the voice calls out again, from another direction.

                There’s a flash of something green.  The sunlight dims and a chill begins to creep into the air.

                “Jason,” the voice calls and it is so close.

                He sees a face, green eyes looking straight at him, and then he is falling backwards, blood arcing through the air as someone screams his name in the dying light.  The scream becomes a bellowing roar…

                And he is suddenly not falling, but sitting up like a shot.  It takes a moment for him to realize he’s awake.  Shaken, he grips the blankets tightly, taking comfort in the scratchy feel of the coarse fabric.  They are real and familiar.  They smell clean, too.

                This… this isn’t his bunk in Below.

                Fresh terror floods him as his eyes dart around the room and he recalls getting _caught_.

                “No,” he breathes, scrambling out of the bed.  “No, no, _no_!”

                Frantically, he searches the room, looking desperately for a way out, but the door doesn’t have controls on this side and the window is reinforced.  Even the vent is too small for anything larger than his wrist.  He tries them all again, scrabbling with his fingers for even the smallest opening, but it’s useless.

                It’s not safe, he can’t stay here, he knows that.  It is _not safe_.

                Someone will come for him soon and then it’ll be _all over_.  Everyone knows that’s what happens if they get caught.

                He needs somewhere to hide.

                There’s a noise at the door.

                He _needs_ to hide.

                Jason quickly crawls under the bed, pulling the blanket down until all the light is shut out.  He curls up in the darkness, wrapping his arms around his knees and tries to be as still and quiet as possible, like he does when the Boss is mad.  If he is small and quiet and still enough, sometimes the Boss does not see him.  So he stays there, quiet as he can, and thinks over and over that he is not there, that they can’t see him.  He thinks it as hard as he can, repeating it over and over desperately.

                The door opens and he dimly hears someone murmur in confusion – that’s right, he thinks, you can’t see me, I’m not here.  The door hisses shut again.

                Then, he hears footsteps.  They slowly approach the bed.  The bed creaks and groans as someone sits down on it.  Then, silence again.

                Jason squeezes his eyes shut and thinks as hard as he can.  _I am not here I am not here I am not here._

                “I know you’re there, kid.”

                Jason freezes in fear.

                “I’m not going to hurt you,” there’s a pause.  “My name’s Jim Gordon.  I’d like to help you.”

                Jason doesn’t move.  He stays quiet.

                “You know, my kids used to hide under the bed when they were scared, so you can stay under there, if you like.  It’s okay.  You’re safe here and I won’t make you come out if you don’t want to.  I’m here to help you.”

                Jason doesn’t believe him, even if he does sound… nice.  Nice can be a trick.

                The Boss can be nice too, when he wants to be.

                “I know you’re scared,” Jim Gordon says.  “But you’re going to be okay.  You don’t have to go back there.  You can stay here as long as you like.”

                Jason doesn’t answer him.

                “I’ve brought you something to eat – moonfish noodles.  It’s not exactly Topside Turf, but my kids like it, so I figured... It’s worth trying, right?”

                After a while, the weight on the bed lifts and he hears footsteps going away, towards the door.  The door opens and shuts with a soft hiss.

                Jason doesn’t move, not until he’s sure it’s safe.

 

* * *

 

                Jim Gordon comes and goes.

                Always, Jason hides under the bed when he’s there.  He doesn’t know Jim yet, not really, and he’s scared.  At least when he’s under the bed, he feels safer.

                “Pretty hungry, aren’t you?” Jim remarks.  He’s taken to putting the tray of food down on the floor, next to the bed.

                Jason can reach it from there, hooking it by the corner with his fingers, and pull it towards himself without leaving the safety of the bed.  It’s easy.

                The food isn’t half bad either.  It’s sure a lot better than he’s used to and he has to be _really_ good about remembering to hide some for later, just in case Jim forgets about him.  The problem is that it’s just that it’s very hard to remember since it’s been so long since he’s had something _good_.

                And he knows where he is now, sort of.  Jim’s part of the Gotham security forces and this is a holding cell in his garrison on the Midway.  He has two kids and they used to hide under the bed and they like moonfish noodles (which are okay, but he likes the ploystarch rations better because they’re easier to save for later).

                “A... _friend_ of mine brought you here,” Jim tells him.  “He thought maybe I could help you.”

                He means the guy who caught him, Jason is sure of it.  But, the funniest thing is that he can’t remember what that guy looks like.  His face is all blurry and Jason gets a headache trying to think about it.

                “He nearly had a litter of kittens all at once, thanks to you,” Jim says and laughs a little.

                It goes quiet.

                Jason picks at the edge of the blanket, chewing his lip a little, and thinks.  “He said I was Force Sensitive.”

                It pops out, really, before he can stop it, but it feels _important_.  It feels important in the same way that putting aside food for later feels important.

                Jim shifts, clearly surprised.

                “What’s that mean?” Jason asks.

                Jim stills, shifts again, and rests his feet flat on the floor.  “Kriffing _hells_ , Xu,” he mutters quietly and there’s a creak on the bed as he leans back a little.

                “I’m sorry,” Jason says quickly, pulling back as far as he can, and waits for the _anger_.

                “No,” Jim states and it is not angry, just _solid_ , which is strange.  “You’ve got nothing to apologize for.”

                Silence falls again.  Jason can hear Jim breathing, hear the soft tapping of his fingers against something – a comlink, maybe?

                Then, Jim pipes up again: “I don’t know much about Force Sensitives, but I know that they don’t last long _Below_.  That’s where you’re from, right?”

                Jason doesn’t answer.  If being Force sensitive is anything like being a kid who has weird powers, then Jim’s right: bad things tend to happen to them.  _Very_ bad things.

                “Thought so,” Jim sighs.  “You’re lucky Xu found you.  I know… someone who can help, maybe even get you off planet to the Jedi and they can _definitely_ help you.”

                Jason’s heard of the Jedi – who _hasn’t_ – but he’d never seen one.  They used to talk about them Below, late at night, when they couldn’t sleep.  They’d tell stories about them, the brave magical Jedi, who fought for justice and truth.  But, they were just _stories._   Jedi don’t come to Gotham, least of all to somewhere like Below.  Everyone knew that.

                “Jedi don’t come to Gotham,” Jason says.

                If the Jedi came, they’d make the Boss stop.  They’d bring back the kids who went Topside and never came back.  They’d fix the ones who came back broken.

                If the Jedi came to Gotham, he wouldn’t be here.  His mom wouldn’t…

                Jason’s eyes are watering and he doesn’t know if he said all that or not but his nose is running a little bit and that’s distracting.  He sniffles, rubbing his arm over his eyes.  Crying is for babies and he’s not a baby.

                “They won’t come,” he repeats.

                “Yes, they will,” Jim says.  “I know, because there’s one here on Gotham.  And, if you want, I’ll take you to meet him.  He’s pretty close to your age, too.”

                Jason chews on his lip a little.  It’s hard to believe that a Jedi like the ones from those stories could be his age.  But if kids could have weird powers and he could be Force Sensitive, then couldn’t a Jedi be a kid, too?

                For a moment, he thinks he’s dreaming again, because he feels like he’s floating on a cloud and there’s a fleeting glimpse of someone’s eyes and something blue.  Then it’s gone.

                Jason isn’t quite so afraid anymore.

                He picks at the polystarch, staring up at the underside of the bed, and wonders why.

               

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jim Gordon was not originally a part of this but he just kind of _happened_ and it worked out so much better because Jason is a smol, traumatized child and good god I gave myself the feelings while writing this.
> 
> Yey force visions.
> 
> "Xu" is pronounced "Khu" for reasons which I will make clear later.
> 
> Also yey polystarch bread rations from the Force Awakens make a cameo because.


	3. Looking Up

                Jim’s speeder is not the greatest one Jason’s ever been in: it’s got a closed cab, the kind of thing they call a _Midway Momma_ down Below, and it’s really beat up. It’s probably older than Jim is, which means it must be positively ancient. Still, Jason can tell that this speeder is a lot faster and more nimble than it lets on. Sure, the seats are ratty and stained with caf, but it doesn’t feel like it’s on purpose. It feels more like… a comfy favorite jacket, which instantly makes it one of his favorite speeders ever.

                Next to him, the lawyer, a Mister Dent, sneezes miserably and goes back to holding his head between his knees.

                “We’re almost there,” Jim announces, glancing over his shoulder.

                “Can’t you go any slower?” Mister Dent moans. He looks positively green, which isn’t normal in humans, so far as Jason knows.

                “I’m doing the speed limit, Harv,” Jim replies, hiding a smile.

                “The speed limit’s boring,” Jason adds. Everyone knows that, but he feels like Mister Dent really needs a reminder.

                Mister Dent raises his head just long enough to give him a wounded look and then drops his head back down, moaning again.

                Jason rolls his eyes and looks out the window at the broad scrawl of Midway. The buildings here aren’t as tightly packed as Below, but they’re close enough that he could probably jump from one to the next if he really had to and they don’t look all that secure either. There are more speeders here, Midway Mommas and Fat Freighters mixed in with Suicide Screamers and Getaway Glories. One or two of those or a couple of good things from one of the buildings would buy him a lot of respect with the Boss, maybe enough to overlook getting caught.

                Maybe.

                But Jim doesn’t slow down and their speeder gently pulls up into another lane, leaving Midway behind for the bright, open glare of Topside.

                The skylanes shimmer with speeders that haven’t rightly got any business being so shiny. They’re sleek and fast, all delicate curves and open tops, and they streak by Jim’s clunker like he’s not even there – no, like he _shouldn’t_ be there. A red speeder screams by them, so close it rattles their windows and he can hear the jeers and whoops of the sentients inside.

                Jim shoots a glance into the backseat, then he grabs the controls, downshifts and flicks a switch. Then Mister Dent is screaming in time with the wail of the sirens: “JIM, NO! STOP! KRIFFING HELLS, THIS IS NOT WHAT WE CAME FOR! JIM, PLEASE!”

                The jump in speed slams Jason back into his seat and his eyes blow wide as Jim guides his speeder through the traffic as if it were a professional trick speeder and not two steps shy of a Below scrapyard. His heart is pounding in his ears but there’s something sparkling in his veins, a recognition of something he’s dreamed about for longer than he can remember and he’s suddenly smiling. In the seat beside him, Mister Dent is a pasty white, clinging to any surface of the cab he can in pure terror.

                Jason laughs.

 

* * *

 

                In the end, the excitement doesn’t last very long. Jim catches up with the red speeder and pulls them over. It’s a bunch of Topside teens half-hopped on glitterstim, who play innocent with none of the understanding of how to really fake it and not sober enough to manage it anyway. Jim threatens to comm their parents and they fold like a bad Sabacc hand. Jason, privately, thinks they’re rather spineless. It’d take a lot more than that to get a Below kid to give in.

                He sits with Mister Dent on the back spoiler of the speeder while they wait for the backup unit to come.

                “He shouldn’t have done that,” Mister Dent tells him quietly. His face is still ashen and his hands are trembling like he’s got the Bane Shakes. “It was reckless.”

                “It’s okay,” Jason says, kicking his feet. “They shouldn’ta teased him. ‘S what I think anyway.”

                Mister Dent shakes his head, like he’s not getting it.

                Jason gets it just fine, thanks. He may just be a kid, but he gets teaching bullies a thing or two.

                “You ever been up this far?” Mister Dent asks, changing the subject.

                Jason shakes his head.

                Getting caught didn’t count. And, besides, this didn’t look like the part he’d been in before. It looked a bit older and fancier. There are even _gardens_ , which he’s only seen in holos. And almost every other building has owl faces decorating it, but they’re a lot fancier than the ones he’s seen Below, with gold plating and everything.

                “What’s the matter?” Mister Dent asks.

                Jason shakes his head. “Nothin’ – just didn’t think I’d see the Owls up here.”

                Mister Dent scoffs, drawing up to his full height. “The Court is just a _myth_. It’s something they tell kids to scare them and make people think twice about trying to change things that need changing.” He pauses, adding, “It’s not right, the things that are going on.”

                “What about the Bat? Got that up here, too?” Jason asks.

                Everyone Below knows about the Bat or knows someone whose seen him or has a cousin or a friend that’s been tossed in Blackgate by him. He took out the whole Falcone operation in a single night and freed the kids in South Hamlin district from the Piper. He’s a _legend_. Even the Boss is scared of him.

                Mister Dent smiles, and it’s a worn thing. “Sure do. He’s scared me half to death, leaving his _presents_ for me to prosecute.”

                “Xu’s got no taste for procedure,” Jim states, approaching them as the backup cruiser slides in to take over. He shrugs, adding, “At least not _our_ procedures. But he gets the job done and can go places we can’t.”

                Mister Dent sighs, pushing off the car. “If I had _all day_ , I couldn’t begin to cover the intricacies of how illegal what he’s doing is.”

                “But it works, right?” Jason asks, scooting forward. He carefully slides down, until his feet rest on solid duracrete. “So, why is it wrong?”

                Jim looks at Mister Dent, whose expression has gone pinched, and then down, as he starts to chuckle.

                “Get in the speeder,” Mister Dent says waspishly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enter Harvey Dent, attached to Gotham Judicial, and the first actual mention of Batman.
> 
> Also the Court is a myth.
> 
> It is totally a myth.
> 
> [Lies.]


	4. The Missing Pieces

                “We’re here,” Jim says as the speeder comes to a stop.

                Jason looks through the window, pressing his hands against it as he looks up at the building. It’s _huge_ , looming over them as it swoops skyward. It’s also incredibly… _gloomy_. He doesn’t know how else to describe it. It just doesn’t seem near as bright as the other buildings in the distance. Even the gardens surrounding it seem sad and neglected, though they’re every bit the neatest gardens he’s ever seen.

                Jim opens the door for him and he steps out onto the landing platform, which is weirdly covered in fine rock.

                “What is this place?” Jason asks.

                “This is one of the Wayne holdings,” Mister Dent explains, pulling out his holopad. “It’s one of the oldest buildings on the planet. It goes clear down, all the way to Below.”

                “What?” Jason exclaims in disbelief. There’s no way a fancy place like this went down that far. Everyone would _know_ about it! And there’s no way they’d pass up a chance at making their way Topside through the core, not with a score like this sitting on top!

                “More like it rests on about forty load-bearing buildings, Harv,” a new voice calls out and Jason whips his head around to see.

                There’s a man on the stoop. He’s dressed real fancy, like most Topsiders, and he’s got dark hair and bright blue eyes, but he’s pretty big too, with broad shoulders. He’s smiling, one of those easy smiles that screams easy mark. Next to him, there’s an old man who looks like he rolled straight out of one of those fancy holodramas about princes and princesses. The old man looks like he could be made of duracrete for all that he seems to care about what’s going on.

                “Bruce,” Mister Dent says, holding out a hand in greeting.

                The man, Bruce, takes it, shaking it and does the same with Jim. Then, he turns to Jason. “And you must be Jason Todd.”

                “Yeah,” Jason says, sticking his chin out and drawing himself up. “’S my name, ain’t it?”

                “I’m Bruce Wayne,” he says, offering his hand. “Jim says you need a place to stay.”

                Jason gives him a wary look and quickly glances over his shoulder to Jim, who rocks his head side to side in a non-committal gesture that means _go with it_. On the other side, Mister Dent nervously checks his comm and his eyes flick over the edge of the landing pad.

                “Maybe,” Jason agrees, suddenly feeling not quite so safe.

                Topside is so open, after all.

                He shivers.

                “Well, come inside and I’ll introduce you to our other guests,” Bruce suggests, pulling up to his full height. “Alfred’s just put on a kettle of some of the finest Nubian blossom tea.”

                His smile is playful and open and kind. Even though he towers over Jason, he doesn’t feel scary at all. “It’ll warm you right up.”

 

* * *

 

                The tea is probably the best thing that Jason has _ever_ had, followed shortly by the sandwiches and pastries served with it. He’s careful to stuff a few in his pockets when no one’s looking, though he doubts they’ll keep for very long. Still, they’re delicious and there’s just so many that it seems a waste _not_ to.

                Bruce, Jim and Mister Dent are still talking and it’s the boring kind of chatter that adults seem to be an expert in, with nothing useful to be found between one word and the next. Honestly, Jason doesn’t see why it matters if Cobblepot or March takes the senate seat for Gotham or what that has to do with planetary security forces and the Republic Judiciary branch.

                Jason stuffs another sandwich in his pocket.

                “Cobblepot’s a _crook_ ,” Bruce says pointedly, rolling his eyes.

                “And I don’t trust March,” Mister Dent’s response is sharp. “There’s just something that’s not right.”

                “Well, Harv, why don’t you run?” Jim asks.

                “Oh, _no_ ,” Mister Dent sputters. “I get speeder sick, for Isley’s sake!”

                Jason rolls his eyes, swipes another cookie, and decides to leave them to their boring talk. Jim said there was a Jedi here and Jason’s going to find him.

                He makes it about as far as the hall when he’s discovered.

                “Hey, Alfred,” Jason tries, forcing a smile. “Do you know where I can find the Jedi?”

                “On Coruscant, I suspect,” the old man responds dryly.

                Jason stares at him.

                “Try the central garden,” Alfred adds, glancing down the leftmost hall. “Down the hall, on your left. Master Grayson should be finishing up his kata. Off you go.”

                Jason didn’t need to be told twice. He hurries down the long hall, looking at everything with wide-eyed wonder. It’s so expensive and shiny – surely Bruce Wayne wouldn’t miss a few of these trinkets here and there. But Jason’s pockets are full of sandwiches and cookies and he’s got a Jedi to find, so he reluctantly puts back the things that his hands have found and continues ever onwards.

                Around the corner, the hall opens up into a room with large, sloping windows that look out onto a wide, enclosed garden. In the center of the garden, smack in the middle of all the statues and fountains, there’s a boy in green robes and tabards. He doesn’t look _that_ much older than Jason, not really, but Jason has seen fighters and none of them move like this kid does. And in his hands, Jason can see the blue blades of the fabled lightsaber.

                A Jedi – a _real_ Jedi!

                The boy runs straight up the opposing wall, hunches down and springs off, into this spinning flip that seems to just almost hang in the air for a moment, and lands on his feet, lightsabers arcing out in a wide slash.

                It’s the most _amazing_ thing Jason has ever seen and it takes him a minute to realize he’s running forward and has said that out loud. By that point, it’s too late to stop and he’s redder than the tea they’d had.

                The boy, the Jedi, looks up and the lightsabers go out with a thrumming snap as he rises. A smile breaks on his face, one that could light the whole of this gloomy building for days. “It’s okay. I’ve been expecting you.”

                “You have?” Jason asks, eyes wide. He suddenly recalls all those stories, stories about Jedi sorcerers who could see the future and he hesitates.

                “Not like that. Xu told me you were coming. Xu knows _everything_ ,” the boy explains. He stands tall and then bows. “I’m Dick Grayson, Jedi Padawan of Corellia.”

                _And you’re like me_ , something says in Jason’s ears and heart and all the way down to his toes, something that hums and feels like something he’s been looking for but never knew he needed.

                “Xu said you were Force Sensitive,” Dick says, tilting his head to the side with a curious expression. “I didn’t realize you were _that_ sensitive. Sorry. What’s your name?”

                “Jason,” he replies, shuffling his feet a little, “Jason Todd. D’ya want a sandwich?”

                Sure, it’s got a little pocket lint on it, but it’s still good. Jason dusts it off a little more: this is a _Jedi_ he’s offering it to, after all, even if he _is_ a kid.

                Dick laughs, stepping forward and taking the sandwich with one hand. His other arm finds its way around Jason’s shoulders as he takes a bite of the sandwich. “You know, you’re all right, kid.”

                “Can you show me how to do that thing with the spinning?”

                “Ataru? Yeah, if you stick around, maybe.”

                Jason can’t think of a reason why he’d ever want to leave.

                “Ah, there you are!” Bruce calls out. He comes in from the other hallway, trailed by Jim and Mister Dent. “Our last guest has arrived. Dick, Jason, this is Jedi Knight Talia al Ghul, of Coruscant.”

                A human woman clad in dark brown and tan robes steps into the room. Her skin is darker than theirs, though not darker by too much, and her hair is a brown so deep that it seems black. Jason squints, tilting his head to the side: she seems familiar somehow, but he can’t place her. She steps closer and Jason stares, his jaw dropping.

                He steps forward, out from under Dick’s arm.

                “I know you,” Jason says. Something under his skin, behind his eyes, and all around him thrums when he says this. He’s right. He _knows_ he’s right.

                The Jedi woman looks at him in plain surprise.

                “I _dreamed_ about you,” he explains, looking up at her. “You’re _real!_ You’re really real!”

                Jim and Mister Dent exchange worried looks. Bruce looks flabbergasted and perhaps a bit sad.

                “The Force works in mysterious ways,” Talia announces, both an explanation and an admission of uncertainty in one. She kneels, putting herself at Jason’s eye level, and smiles. “It seems that you have me at a disadvantage, young one. Why don’t you tell me about this dream of yours?”

                “Okay,” Jason says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alfred's sandwiches are the best in the Dici System, short of Ma Kent's farm.
> 
> Poison Ivy may have accidentally become a goddess of planet Gotham and not just the namesake of their equatorial jungle ring. Oops.  
> Tell us how you really feel about the Penguin, Bruce. Tell us.
> 
> I've had to shift some things around to accommodate the rules of the Star Wars verse.
> 
> I'm also trying something new where I do bulk updates - 2 or more chapters in a sitting - but they'll still be coming as I'm inspired and with this one I'm running a bit carefully, since there's a lot of stuff going on, especially in the Pre-Empire years (I've spent entirely too long trying to figure out the cockamamie dating system in the Star Wars verse, so you'll probably never get exact birthdates for anyone).
> 
> Dick is about 2 years older than Jason. Maybe.


	5. A Jedi Maybe

                Jason tells Talia about his dream. Here and there, she asks him a question and he tries to explain what he’d seen – well, he _tries_ to, anyway. Dreams are funny and weird and this one is one of his weirder ones. After all, this is the first time he’s actually _met_ someone he’s dreamed of!  When he is done, she has a funny look on her face. She isn’t the only one, but he’s used to getting funny looks.

                His mom used to have a funny face when he talked about his dreams, too.

                But that was _before_.

                “And how old are you, Jason?” Talia asks, gently.

                “Five,” he answers.

                Bruce coughs, trying to get her attention, but he stills and goes immediately silent when she raises a hand to silence him.

                “Is that in Gotham years or Galactic Standard?” Talia asks.

                Jason shrugs. He doesn’t really see why it makes a difference. Aren’t they the same? Doesn’t everyone know what a year is?

                Talia nods silently, standing once more and running her hands down the front of her robes to smooth them flat. She draws in a deep breath and turns to face Bruce. “Mister Wayne, I wonder if I might have a word with you?”

                For a moment, Bruce looks like a stunned pole pengu, minus the flappy beak. “Of course,” he says, at last.

                Talia raises her head high and exits the room, their host following quickly.

                Green eyes, blazing in challenge, flash behind Jason’s eyelids and he hears a snap-hiss. He shakes his head and it is gone, but Dick is looking at him now and he looks worried. Jim and Dent look worried, too, but more because they don’t seem to know what’s going on.

                Jim had said he knew less about the Force than the guards at Blackgate knew about the Bat and _everyone_ knew about the Bat. Well, at least down _Below_ , anyway. Topsiders overall seem to be a bit stupid, in Jason’s opinion.

                Jim is okay, though.

                “Are you all right, Jay?” Dick asks him.

                Jason stares at him in surprise and Dick immediately sputters, turning a bit pink around the ears.

                “I’m sorry, it’s a habit,” Dick manages, hastily. “I give nicknames to everyone. I’m bad at it, actually. Super _bad_. Terrible, even. I didn’t mean to offend you.”

                Jason shakes his head, ruffling off the surprise, and reaches, latching on to Dick’s sleeve, while beside them, Jim lets out a hearty laugh and Dent is trying to keep a straight face.

                “I don’t get it,” Dick states, screwing up his face in confusion. “What just happened?”

                “I hope you like strays, Grayson,” Jim manages, with a smirk.  “You just adopted one.”

                “What?” Dick asks, eyes wide.

                “I’m not a stray,” Jason scolds Jim at the same time. He then looks up at Dick and tilts his head to the side, explaining: “Can’t be a stray if you got a nick. If you got a nick, you got a people.”

                “This is a Gotham thing, isn’t it?” Dick says and it’s kind of clear he’s not getting it.

                Jason glances at Jim and Mister Dent – but mostly Jim, honestly.

                “If we had week and a wall of flimsiplast, I couldn’t even _begin_ to cover the difference between Below Gotham and the Upper Levels for you,” Mister Dent states dryly. “But yes – it’s a _Gotham_ thing, as you put it.”

                “Down Below, nicknames are like laying claim to family,” Jim adds, giving the lawyer one of those looks that says he thinks Mister Dent is being pretty rude. “And, since you’re both Jedi, it’s not exactly wrong, is it?”

                “But I’m not a Jedi, am I?” Jason asks, just as Dick starts to open his mouth to respond. “I’m… _Force Sensitive_. That’s what Xu said, right?”

                “You’re not a Jedi, _yet_ ,” Talia’s voice cuts across the room. She stands in the doorway with a smile on her face. Behind her, looking a fair bit like he’d gotten an earful, is Bruce.

                “But you could be,” she adds, approaching Jason once more. “Would you like that, Jason?”

                He nods, something humming in the back of his head.

                _I am a Jedi,_ it whispers.

                “Even if it might mean leaving Gotham and Padawan Grayson behind?” she asks, much more softly this time.

                Jason looks from her to Dick, whose face goes from kind of blank to a kind smile when he notices Jason’s looking.

                “Aren’t you coming?” Jason asks, confused.

                Jim and Mister Dent shift in place, exchanging a tense look. Bruce doesn’t look at any of them, his mouth drawn in a thin line.

                Dick’s smile turns incredibly guilty. “Ah, I _might_ have something I want to take care of first,” he pauses and adds, “Besides, I’m _Corellian_. I’m not exactly sure the Temple would be a good fit for me. We Corellian Jedi… have a _bit_ of a difference of opinion on some tenants of the Order.”

                “Like what?” Jason responds, uncertainly. “Aren’t all Jedi, well, _Jedi_?”

                “It’s _complicated_ ,” Dick says. And he says it like adults do when they don’t precisely want to explain something they’re not quite too solid on themselves, so Jason cusses him out in his mom’s tongue, just like he would any other kid down Below and kicks him in the shins.

                Dick lets out a few colorful gems of his own in Corellian Trade as he hops backwards, clutching his bruised shin. Mister Dent raises his eyes to the ceiling, looking a bit scandalized, and Jim is pinching the bridge of his nose between his forefingers, while Bruce is pointedly _not_ looking in their direction.

                “Jason,” Talia says firmly and it _feels_ like he just got scolded, but when he looks at her, she hasn’t moved a muscle.

                He shrinks back, staring up at her.

                “The Jedi do not strike in anger,” she tells him. “If you wish to be a Jedi, you cannot strike someone simply because they anger you.”

                “Then what do Jedi do when they’re mad?” Jason demands, hotly.

                “They don’t kick you in the shins,” Dick grumbles, hopping on one foot. “Where in the nine Sith hells does a Gotham kid learn Mand-?”

                “We recognize it for what it is and then we let it go,” Talia cuts him off. “We give it back to the Force.”

                “Why?” Jason asks, not understanding.

                “If you hold on to your anger, it will control you,” Talia answers. Her eyes slide towards Bruce for a moment and the feeling in the back of his head hums with Things Not Said. “You cannot be a Jedi and let your anger rule you. It is dangerous to do that. You could hurt others or yourself.”

                Jason chews his lip a little, thinking.

                Bad things happen to kids with weird powers. _Very_ bad things.

                … _Especially_ when they’re _mad_.

                He gulps and stands up a little straighter, his eyes wide. “I’m sorry!” he blurts out. “I won’t do it again! I want to be a Jedi, I want to!”

                Bad things happen to kids with weird powers. Bad things do not happen to Jedi.

                Everyone knows that.

                “Talia,” Bruce says, scolding. “Is scaring him _really_ necess-“

                Talia turns and gives him a _look_ that Jason _knows_ means that he’s just put his foot in Old Croc’s mouth.

                Bruce’s jaw snaps shut with an audible click.

                “Come on, Bruce,” Mister Dent pipes up. “Let the Jedi handle this… Force stuff. That’s a little bit beyond us ordinary folk, you know?”

                The tiniest, smallest hint of something _weird_ and unhappy crosses Bruce’s face, but when Jason blinks, it’s gone and Bruce looks like _Bruce_ and not… well, _weird_.

                Maybe he’s just imagining things.

                “Well, now that _that’s_ settled,” Jim drawls. “That just leaves the question of what we’re doing with Grayson here. He _can’t_ stay.”

                “Yeah, well, I can’t _leave_ either,” Dick says, rolling his eyes.

                “Why not?” Jason asks.

                “Well,” Dick sighs, drawing out the word. “It’s a long story, but basically I _might_ have a bit of a hit out on me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Jason, there _is_ a difference between Gotham Standard and Galactic Standard. :|
> 
> If the green outfit wasn't a hint, Dick Grayson is absolutely a Corellian Jedi, straight out of the EU because _reasons_. Also, accidentally adopted a little brother whoops good going Dick. #familiesofchoice
> 
> Poor Talia. She is so TiredTM, dealing with Bruce. Let her rest. Let her _rest_.


	6. The Things You Know

                There are things everyone knows on Gotham.

                One:  The swamps and the jungle belong to Isley. You don’t tread there if you like living, unless you’re a kid and then _maybe_ she might take pity on you. Oh sure, she’s got shrines in all the green places on Gotham, but she’s not _there_ like she is in the deep jungle and the swamps.

                Two: You don’t mess with the owls. They belong to the Court and they’re super _cursed_. The Court will know if you mess with them and then they’ll come for you and you won’t ever get away. Isley herself won’t even save you.

                Three: You don’t cross the big crime families, especially not the Maroni, the Falcone, or the Bertinellis. Even the Boss won’t mess with them. Messing with them is how you end up dead in a hurry. And being a kid didn’t make you safe, either.

                Apparently, neither did being a Jedi.

                “They killed my _parents_ ,” Dick says, seriously. “I want… I _need_ to make sure justice is done.”

                “And it _will_ be,” Mister Dent attempts to assure him. “But we need to make sure you safely make it to the trial. And if that means getting you off planet, then…”

                “Mister Dent, with all due respect,” Talia interrupts. “Let’s not delude ourselves. We all know that the Maroni have people in both Judiciary and Security and, from the start, they have been _expecting_ the Jedi to be called to collect Dick.”

                “And getting me off planet is easier said than done,” Dick adds. “In fact, it’d probably make their job easier. I can think of a dozen ways offhand to take down a ship before it even breaks atmo and I’m not even nine standard.”

                Jim hides a chuckle, pretending to look down. “He’s not wrong, Harv. They are watching our _every_ move.”

                “Then maybe Padawan Grayson should just stay here?” Bruce suggests. “It’s not like they know he’s here.”

                “Bruce,” Talia, Jim and Mister Dent all say at once, in the same scolding manner.

                “You called her here,” Jim says.

                “As a friend,” Bruce says, “Which is perfectly reasonable and normal.”

                “Yeah, because Jedi are so common out here,” Mister Dent says, rolling his eyes.

                “Jedi don’t come to Gotham,” Jason adds, helpfully. “Everyone knows that.”

                Bruce’s expression pinches a little and Jason is reminded suddenly of the time one of the other kids called him a brat. Except it’s not so much words, but more like a feeling and it’s definitely a bit fonder.

                Jim’s a little less amused than Mister Dent. “And Bruce, you can’t _seriously_ expect to be able to raise a Padawan. They need… Jedi stuff. You’re _not_ a Jedi.”

                “No, you are not,” Talia says, giving Bruce a pointed look.

                Bruce gives her an annoyed glare in return and Jason feels like he’s missing something important.

                She raises her eyebrows and juts out her chin a little, as if daring him to challenge her, and he backs down, shrinking into himself a little.

                Finally, after a moment, Bruce stresses, “Jim, trust me, I’ve been careful. The only thing they could possibly know is that I’m facilitating a meeting between you and a representative of the Jedi. _No one_ knows Dick is here.”

                _Except Xu_ , Jason knows in his gut, because Xu knows everything.

                Everyone living on Gotham knows that - even Dick and he’s an _offworlder_.

                “Besides,” Bruce adds, “We could be meeting about Jason. It’s not out of character for me to call in friends for favors to people I’ve only barely met.”

                Mister Dent tilts his head and pinches the bridge of his nose with his fingers, raising his eyebrows in a way that practically shouts that he knows exactly what Bruce is talking about and that it clearly happens all the time.

                “I’m rich and terribly gullible,” Bruce tells Jason with a wink, “When the situation calls for it.”

                Dick rolls his eyes and snorts.

                “You’re weird,” Jason tells him.

                Bruce fakes being offended, pretending to huff and sulk.

                “You’re _really_ weird,” Jason decides.

                Jim coughs, stepping forward, and gives Bruce a look that Jason knows all too well. He’s seen it enough times to know what _knock it off_ looks like, after all.

                “We’ve got a job to do, Bruce,” Jim tells him. “Can we stay on task, please?”

                Bruce stiffens a little, clearing his throat as he straightens up.

                “I think I should stay,” Dick says, then, and he doesn’t look like he’s going to back down. “It’d be the best thing, really, all things considered.”

                Talia presses her lips together tightly, thinking, and finally says, “You won’t be able to continue your training as a Jedi if you stay.”

                “No, I suppose not,” Dick responds and it feels like they’re both saying and meaning different things.

                “Are you sure that is what you want?” Talia asks, gently.

                Dick nods. “I think… I think this is where I _need_ to be.”

                Jason knows, somehow, that he’s right. He doesn’t know how he knows: he just _knows._

                Talia closes her eyes, folding her hands in front of her robes, and nods, as if she knows, too. And she probably does because she’s a Jedi and Jedi _know_ things.

                _I am a Jedi_ , something in the back of Jason’s head says again and there’s more to it than last time, but the whispers trail off before he can catch them.

                “And you, Jason? Are you going to stay or go?” Bruce asks.

                It feels like there’s more to the question, like there’s something he’s missing, but Jason has already made up his mind.

                “I have to go,” he replies before he even knows he’s said anything at all.

                “You will always have a place here,” Bruce tells him and he means it.

                “I know,” Jason says.

                He doesn’t know how he does, but he does.

 

* * *

 

 

                When Jason leaves with Talia, she is carrying Dick’s lightsabers gently in her other hand, as if they were the most precious thing around. But she never tries to hide them at all or anything: in fact, she’s making sure they’re very visible at all times.

                It’s an old Jedi trick, according to her and Dick. In many places, a Jedi’s lightsaber is said to be proof of their death.

                Dick Grayson, Jedi Padawan, cannot leave Gotham alive. The Maroni won’t let him. He’s seen _way_ too much and, worse, is a witness to the murder of his parents.

                For right now, faking his death is the only way he might be able to have any kind of a life at all.

                “It’s not that bad,” Dick had told him. “I can always make new ones. Getting new crystals will be tough, but I can manage.”

                Jason tries not to think about how Dick was trying so hard not to cry.

                “Can I hold them?” he asks Talia, when they are finally on board her ship and on their way to Coruscant.

                She hesitates a moment and then gently places them in his hands. She shows him where the controls are and how to cycle them down to safer, training settings, and makes sure he knows to keep the emitter end pointed safely away from himself. Then, she leaves him alone.

                Jason tucks himself under the fold-out bed, pulls the blankets down and curls up, cradling the lightsabers close. If he closes his eyes, he can almost imagine Dick ruffling his hair and smiling.

                He has a feeling he’s not going to see him for a long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bruce Obfuscating Stupidity Wayne is wearing so many different masks in this fic. All his friends are so TiredTM. Let them rest, Bruce.
> 
> So many shout outs so many so _many_
> 
> yey worldbuildin'


End file.
